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Brightly Transmitted Influences

02.18.2024 by M Donaldson // Leave a Comment

Today, I’m listening to Im Fünfminutentakt, an album by the enigmatic act Fred und Luna released last April. In playful press releases, Fred und Luna are purported to be moon-based explorers observing and commenting on Earthly activities through the language of music. This set-up, along with a synthesized and intentional retro sound that those same press releases refer to as “elektrokraut,” signals the kind of thing I’d often shy away from. But Im Fünfminutentakt is a terrific album.

Fred und Luna owe much to Kraftwerk and the electronic German music of the Kosimche ’70s. But where the album excels is when those brightly transmitted influences are stylistically fiddled with. Im Fünfminutentakt‘s first three tracks are what I’m talking about: there’s “Aurum C,” a bubbling, motorik album intro, and “Nur ein Viertelstündchen,” which brings to mind a becalmed take on New Order’s “Your Silent Face”—itself a Kraftwerk tribute. But the standout is the song sandwiched in between those two. “Es ist so schön”—”It is so beautiful”—is a fancy female/male duet that’s one part new wave dancefloor in restraint, one part affected Weimar torch song, and one part Cluster foolin’ around. It vibes for days and sounds like what hopeful young American couples imagine Europe to be like.

Im Fünfminutentakt and Fred und Luna first grabbed my attention when this album was released, but the reason I’m commenting on it now is less felicitous. Fred und Luna was one person, a creative hustle and bustle by the name of Rainer Buchmüller. In addition to creating the music of Fred Und Luna and performing/DJ’ing under that name, Rainer is also listed as a poet and record store owner—two identities perhaps even more financially challenging than professional musician. The sad news over the wire this week is that Rainer succumbed to cancer and is no longer with us.

Rainer was obviously harboring expertise and indebtedness to the strain of German music lovingly referred to as Krautrock. Not only do the recordings of Fred und Luna wear this proud lineage on their sonic sleeves, but Rainer was involved in Future Sounds of Kraut, a compilation series released via Compost Records. The aim is to highlight the latest crop of German artists (though not exclusively so) that are carrying the Krautrock torch into our modern age. Volume 1, embedded below, is well worth a listen. Volume 2, already completed, is due on March 1. Rainer Buchmüller did not live to see its release, but I am thankful he was able to complete the project.

Time’s running out, my friends. Stay focused on the things and people you love.

Categories // From The Notebook Tags // Compost Records, Fred und Luna, Kraftwerk, Krautrock

Felix Laband: Sine Waves in Heaven

01.03.2023 by M Donaldson // 5 Comments

I’ve always held a fascination for musical artists that started as painters — Brian Eno and Captain Beefheart come to mind — but it’s often impossible to find a key to their music through their visual expressions. Not so with Felix Laband. The South African recording artist’s sonic output stands side-by-side with his collage art, with his pieces adorning the covers of his albums from the very first, 2001’s Thin Shoes In June. The subjects of Felix’s collages are fractured, spare, and dramatically chopped. You might find animal life, anguished faces, African imagery, drab buildings, vague slogans, and pervy goings-on. And the collages, intentionally or not, accompany and unlock Felix’s music, especially his latest album, The Soft White Hand. 

Supported by a canvas of bright pigments in tone and melody, the citizens of Felix’s collages reside in his songs. Field recordings, animated dialogues, newsreel announcements, and undefinable intonations twist and bend in context — the mundane becoming bizarre, the bitter becoming joyous, the pleasant turning ominous. Felix’s label, Compost Records, delves into this aspect in the album’s press release:

“My music is always about collage, as is my art,” [Felix] affirms. “Everything I do is collage. It is a medium I find very interesting because you are taking history and distorting it and changing its meaning and turning it upside down and back to front.” In her book Recollections of My Non-Existence, Rebecca Solnit calls collage “literally a border art”; it is “an art of what happens when two things confront each other or spill onto each other.”

The music on The Soft White Hand can exist and satisfy without the insertion of collage. But the collage and the nature of its sample-play transform the album into personal reflection. With some attention, one can grasp Felix’s reservations and struggles — as a South African in a powder keg, as a sufferer of substance abuse, and of feeling abandoned and rejected in a world that’s lost control of itself. But despite the turmoil, the construction of The Soft White Hand has a deliberateness and a lightness. The album is sonically crisp — the melodies tend to sparkle, the rhythms can’t help but gyrate, and the low end is tough and resolute. Felix is an electronic music producer’s producer (like someone deemed “a DJ’s DJ or a writer’s writer”). The stereo spread is full and cosmic, open for study and ready to yield surprises on repeated listens. The Soft White Hand can’t be easily defined but feels close to something we already know.

Some months back, I interviewed David Sanborn (alongside his crafty wife, Jennifer Huber) for an expose on the extreme mischief of their Kraftwerk fandom. I was also aware that David is a devoted fan of Felix Laband’s art and music. In 2017, David bought one of Felix’s collage works and had it shipped from South Africa at a not-insignificant expense. The piece is fantastic, and I’ve admired it on David and Jennifer’s wall many times. This purchase inspired a correspondence between David and Felix, and they became regular internet acquaintances. So, when Felix appeared on my radar as an 8sided interview subject, I immediately thought of David. Who better to talk to this enigmatic artist? 

My instinct paid off. As you’ll hear in the interview audio below, these two had a mutually generous and strikingly personal conversation about life, Felix’s music, the state of the world, South Africa, and much more — along with many humorous asides. Here’s what David wants you to know about this interview: 

My pal Michael asked me if I was interested in interviewing Felix Laband, a South African composer of sublime electronic music I’ve long admired, to which I replied with a hard YES and an emphatic affirmative. I spent days relistening to Felix’s back catalog, making notes, and hoping to create a dialog complementary to his aspirations. In short, I was dedicated and thrilled about the opportunity. In retrospect, I may have over-delivered as Felix was a charming and fascinating man who shared some unique interests and opinions with me, so the sprawling recording I handed Michael to prune down to something manageable exceeded two hours. Michael: I’m sorry. Had I not asked every question and lifted every rug, I wouldn’t have stumbled on our shared loathing of dubstep, a shared loving of the film Withnail & I, and the dirt on Die Antwoord. I hope this interview shines a spotlight on an artist who deserves so much more than he’s received. 

I managed to edit this fascinating chat down to one tight hour, and I threw in a few interludes using music from The Soft White Hand. In addition to what David mentions in his paragraph, the two discuss the perils of addiction, why you shouldn’t ask your elders to translate Einstürzende Neubauten lyrics, the meanings behind some of the album’s samples, finding lewd photos for salacious collage art, and why David would rather interview Felix than Ralf Hütter of Kraftwerk. 

A big thanks to David Sanborn for conducting this interview (here’s his blog, which he should update more often, nudge nudge). What follows is a transcripted excerpt from the conversation, which begins with Felix wondering if he should leave South Africa as he and David explore a frequent artistic malady: self-doubt. If all this piques your interest, please enjoy the entire conversation in the handy audio player. It’s a good one.

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FL: Obviously [I could emigrate] to Europe because my record label, [Compost Records], is there. Probably Berlin to start with, just because it’s central and I have a lot of friends there. But this war is making everything quite difficult. I’m quite nervous.

DS: Yeah, the whole world feels destabilized, and a lot depends on the outcome. But that brings us to a catch-22. What is Felix Laband without South Africa? I think for a lot of artists, the struggles they experience make their music possible. I want to see you live somewhere where you’re safe, and you’re happy. But does that mean the music will continue, or will you give a big sigh of relief and just try to live your life happily? 

FL: I think the music will continue. But perhaps, and this might sound a bit odd, what I think about a lot is studying music [abroad] now that I’m a bit older and more mature. Perhaps I would take it seriously, like maybe classical music or, in particular, chamber music, which is what I’m really into. I don’t have any formal training. I feel like I’ve reached the point where my ideas are getting boring, and I’m not capable of thinking in terms of big chords and stuff like that. I feel like that might open a whole new chapter in my experience with music.

DS: I don’t want to come across as pandering, but you know I’m a big fan. I think The Soft White Hand is brilliant. It’s a cracking album. My wife and I went to the UK for the last three weeks and rented a car. We drove from Scotland all the way down to the Isle of Wight, and we listened to your album like half the time. 

FL: Beautiful. 

DS: And you talk about expanding your musical palette with some formal training. But I’ve got to say that this album is as close as electronic music gets to chamber music. There are elements to that album that remind me of the French composer Johann Pachelbel, for example. There are melodic elements that remind me of Philip Glass. And yet here you are saying you don’t feel that you’re as good as you could be. And I’m sure that there’s probably some truth to that in your mind, but I think you might also be a little, um … what’s the word I’m looking for? A lack of ego, perhaps.

FL: I appreciate you saying that. It means so much to me because I do feel like this album is a lot closer to where I want to be. I’ve been banging away trying to make this album for about six or seven years. And it only came together in terms of a concept, of something I was feeling confident about, maybe in the last year. That was after I was in a weird relationship with somebody a lot younger than me. It was quite a traumatic relationship, with a lot of fighting and stuff, but she helped me have a proper look at what I’m doing. She was right about a lot of stuff, and it pushed me a bit. That led to a bit more confidence in what it is that I actually want to do.

DS: Would you like to attend a university, or is there somebody you would like to work with who could impart knowledge? 

FL: I’m told that, because of my experience [as a recording artist], if I had to apply to a university, I might have some way in even though I don’t have any training. But I don’t even know what’s out there. I just think it might be quite interesting and push me to embrace that style of thinking.

DS: A common element of this album — and in most of your music — is a purity of sound. You use bells and other things that have a pure tone. There’s no distortion. When I listen to how hard you work on your music to make it perfect, it’s telling that you feel you could be a better musician. I know this isn’t news to you, but you don’t ever use the same drum break twice. You’re never just cutting and pasting four-bar loops. What causes that need for perfection? What makes you go for this particular sound?

FL: That’s such an interesting question. You know, if I were going to heaven, I would be on a sine wave. (laughs) I’ve always loved that tone. It speaks to me, that sort of sine wave tone. And I do love bell sounds and things like that. It’s interesting because distortion was something that I was super into at a certain point in my life. But I do find it quite difficult these days, especially in electronic music.

DS: There’s such purity in your music. There’s no distortion at all. It’s some of the clearest, cleanest stuff I’ve heard.

FL: I suppose it feels right to me. I mean, some tracks evolve over a long time. They might have started as something completely the opposite. I tend to work with things that I’ve done previously when I realize that it fits with something I’m working on now. I’ll merge them together. But when I feel it’s perfectly married and finished, it’s often clean in tone. Although, that’s not a conscious idea. It’s interesting that you brought that up, as I haven’t thought about it. You’re right.

→ Felix Laband’s The Soft White Hand is out now on Compost Records. You can find the album on Bandcamp, as well as all the streaming spots. To check out some of Felix’s collage art, visit his Instagram page.

Categories // Featured, Interviews + Profiles Tags // collage, Compost Records, David Sanborn, Die Antwoord, Einstürzende Neubauten, Felix Laband, Kraftwerk, South Africa

Ströme: Back in the Future

12.19.2022 by M Donaldson // 3 Comments

In Japanese folklore, you’ll find the Shinto idea of the tsukumogami, an inanimate object occupied by a spirit. The spirit becomes present in a thing over use and time — after one hundred years in the case of the tsukumogami. And the object-as-spirit remembers its treatment by a prior owner. If the object was previously abused, then the tsukumogami wrecks vengeance, even if it’s now in the hands of a different owner. I assume this works the other way around if the item was held in reverence.

I approached my conversation with the German duo Ströme with this concept in mind. The two members — Mario Schönhofer and Tobias Weber — are loud and proud gearheads who create an eclectic flavor of modern-sounding but vintage-charged electronic music on an impressive variety of classic circuit-based instruments. As you’ll hear in the interview, Ströme are not only passionate and knowledgable but also respectful and pious toward their gear. As a result, Ströme’s instruments will undoubtedly spawn good-natured tsukumogami.

But the conversation yields another twist to the possibility of historical essence within an object. For the duo’s debut full-length album, Nr. 2, Ströme managed to get ahold of the first Moog synthesizer to cross the German border. Purchased by Eberhard Schöner, founder of the first laboratory for electronic music in 1968 at Bavaria Studios, this particular Moog IIIp made appearances on recordings you might know. The Beatles’ “Here Comes The Sun?” Check. Giorgio Moroder’s “I Feel Love?” Check! And so it was that Ströme ended up with the keys to the car, so to speak, and unrestricted access to a synthesizer that assuredly has a contented tsukumogami flowing through its circuitry.

As for Ströme, the duo formed in 2015, bonded by this love of electronic music and the quirky technology that makes it. The three-song Nr. 1 was released by fabled imprint Compost Records and dutifully announced the pair’s distinctive mixture of Krautrock textures and nightclub rhythms. The third track on the EP is a recording of a live session in Leipzig, showcasing the importance of live performance to the execution of Ströme. Mario and Tobias bravely lug their phalanx of analog, modular, and often vintage music machines on tour, leading to uncompromising and sometimes unpredictable performances. 

This energy pops and fizzes throughout Nr. 2‘s 14 tracks. There are plenty of club-focused moments, but these hang alongside contemplative synth wanderings and motorik rhythm sections. Ströme ties their thread thickly to the reigning historical champions of German ‘kosmische’ music, whether we’re obviously talking about Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream or, more esoterically, in the realm of Cluster, Neu!, and Popol Vuh. As you’ll hear in the conversation, Mario and Tobias are acutely aware of their place in the lineage. And the addition of fellow vintage synth fiend Nick McCarthy (formerly of the Glaswegian band Franz Ferdinand) on a few songs emboldens rather than obscures the connection, especially on the transcendent indie-shimmer of “Stadlberg.” 

I had the pleasure of firing up Zoom with Mario and Tobias some weeks ago to speak about a variety of topics. Those subjects include previous owners of the machines we use, the challenges of analog synthesis on the road, if live bands or DJs are better at ‘feeling the crowd,’ and lots of gear talk. I mean, lots of gear talk. If you’re into vintage synthesizers then this interview is your jam. For a taste, I’ve transcribed an excerpt below where Mario and Tobias explain how Ströme got ahold of the infamous Moog IIIp in the first place. Please enjoy our entire 35-minute conversation in the handy audio player. 

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MD: The album uses all this vintage gear, but it doesn’t have a nostalgic sound. I’d say it sounds quite modern. Is that intentional? Is it difficult not to fall into a trap of making things sound vintage when using this historical gear?

MS: Well, when Eberhard Schöner first gave access to the old [Moog IIIp] from 1969, we were very impressed [with its capabilities].

MD: So this was the original Moog that was used by the Beatles and has a ton of history behind it. 

MS: Yeah. We met Eberhard at a garden party. 

TW: At first, he was like, “ah, these young guys, huh?” 

MS: I asked him before we left the party, “can we just see the Moog synthesizer?” We never saw Moog that old. It’s number ‘7’ or something. He said, “yes, come on by.” In about two or three weeks, we saw the system. Eberhard switched it on, we played for a bit, and then we had a coffee. After a couple of hours, Eberhard and his wife said, “we are leaving for about a week. You can stay here. You can use the fridge; it’s full. And you can do as much with the Moog synthesizer as you want.” 

TW: That was really crazy! (laughs)

MS: Yeah, that was! We were driving home, and I was crying. It was a lifelong dream to be with this machine. I knew the sound of it since I was a kid. From Georgio Moroder’s “I Feel Love” to these kids’ TV series that Eberhard created music for. I knew this synthesizer, the sound. 

TW: This was really special. They live in an old farmhouse on a mountain with a studio that was active in the eighties …

MD: That sounds like a Conny Plank kind of situation!

MS: Yeah, it was! And, of course, we knew who Eberhard was. I knew that he bought the first Moog synthesizer in Germany. It was such an honor just to meet this guy. And when we got there, it turned out to be the greatest experience.

TW: And what’s crazy is next door to the studio was the house where Popol Vuh was living. And they bought the second Moog in Germany because they saw Eberhard’s. And he told us the guys from Tangerine Dream were coming around and checking out the Moog, and they bought it because of him. Then Eberhard was lending it to Georgio Moroder to produce all this stuff. And now the synthesizer’s in a museum.

MD: I saw that! 

MS: It was amazing. When we were recording with the old Moog, we could feel that a lot of music was made on this instrument.

TW: I’m not as keen on Moog synthesis like Mario, but when I started making sounds from it, I was thinking, “This sounds like it could be played right now in Berghain.” It’s not vintage at all. 

MS: We set up the Moog on the floor intending to do a real Krautrock week, you know. And so Tobias was wiggling knobs on the Moog, and I came into the studio, and it sounded like the most modern drum loop ever. We really thought the people in the sixties and seventies just weren’t ready for these sounds. It was like back in the future.

TW: When you play a JX-8P or something, you always have this vintage sound. But with a Moog from 1969, you just make your music. It’s so modern sounding.

MS: Since that time, I’m working nearly exclusively with the [reissued] Moog IIIp because I found out what Bob Moog intended this instrument to be. It’s a machine able to produce any kind of sound on a timestamp. It’s like you have currents saved on magnetic tape, and this machine should be able to emulate all kinds of waveforms occurring on the tape. So there are many tricks Bob Moog incorporated into this instrument. Tricks from old sound engineers. It’s unbelievable what Bob Moog invented.

MD: Does the Moog appear on most of the new album? 

MS: There are some overdubs made with the new Moog IIIp we got in 2019. But it took some time to get it to sound really good. It needs some time to burn in its circuits, you know. It’s like a new violin — it needs to be played.

MD: That’s fantastic. You definitely don’t have that feeling with the JX-8P and gear like that, 

MS: It took nearly half a year before I made its first serious recording. The machine was running 24-7 to get it in shape; to get the capacitors and everything to work properly together. And you really can hear it. But now the old Moog is in a museum and that’s a big honor for Eberhard, that his synthesizer will be shown for 200 years in the German museum and his heritage will carry on. And I’m happy with my new Moog. There’s no need for us to change.

→ Ströme’s Nr. 2 is out now on Compost Records. It’s available on Bandcamp and all the streaming places.

Categories // Featured, Interviews + Profiles Tags // Compost Records, Conny Plank, Eberhard Schöner, Franz Ferdinand, Germany, Giorgio Moroder, Krautrock, Moog, Popol Vuh, Synthesizers, Tangerine Dream, The Beatles

A Drumtastic Interlude

02.22.2022 by M Donaldson // Leave a Comment

The Shining: a Visual and Cultural Haunting is an ‘immersive publication’ exploring Stanley Kubrick’s obsessively examined masterpiece. It includes over one hundred loose-leaf ‘typewritten pages’ that mimic Jack’s fateful manuscript in the film1related: this tweet made me giggle today. It’s presently on Kickstarter, and boy is it tempting, even though I feel like this film has already been pulled apart from every angle (sometimes with ridiculous results). If you pledge at the highest level, you’ll get a replica of Danny’s Apollo 11 sweater, knitted to fit your size. Oh, and there’s an unexpected essay by Cosey Fanni Tutti on “sound and the unfolding domestic violence within the film,” which I’d love to read someday.

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“Story of the Century” by Ty Segall is a drum-tastic interlude from the soundtrack to the documentary Whirlybird (I’ve seen it, and it’s good). The massive drum break in the middle sounds a lot like the one in the middle of my own “141 Revenge Street,” though mine is lifted + sampled from something I honestly can’t think of right now. Segall’s break is probably lifted from the same source as well — if you consider having a living-and-breathing drummer replicate a drum break as ‘lifting’ in the borrowing/thieving sense. The full album is out tomorrow and it’ll be a lot of fun if this advance track is any indication.

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I’m also enamored with Al Chem‘s second release for the long-respected Compost label. The Upanishads EP stands out in a sea of dance music promos from the usual suspects as Al Chem’s inspiration arises from electro-acoustic experimentation. The tempos are house music-friendly but, barring some predictable DJ mixing a kick drum underneath, there’s no prominent rhythmic backbone. Instead, the tunes are percussive and often of the tuned, metallic breed of banging, resembling a highly restrained Einstürzende Neubauten. And that’s meant as a compliment! As on “Moksha,” the ting’ed notes are kalimba or kora-like, creating buzzing arpeggiations — possibly synthesized, possibly organic, it doesn’t matter. My pick is the subtly ominous “Advaita,” a cut that abandons melody for syncopated layers that resonate to create a perceived drone underneath. And “Vedanta” closes things out on a sunny note, full of delightful, ringing complexity that resembles Laraaji more than a tad. I bet there’s the temptation to release a club-primed remix pack soon, but I hope that move is resisted — I dig these four cuts just the way they are.

Categories // From The Notebook, Listening Tags // Al Chem, Compost Records, Cosey Fanni Tutti, Einstürzende Neubauten, Kickstarter, Laraaji, Q-Burns Abstract Message, Stanley Kubrick, The Shining, Ty Segall

8sided.blog

 
 
 
 
 
 
8sided.blog is an online admiration of modernist sound and niche culture. We believe in the inherent optimism of creating art as a form of resistance and aim to broadcast those who experiment not just in name but also through action.

It's also the online home of Michael Donaldson, a curious fellow trying his best within the limits of his time. He once competed under the name Q-Burns Abstract Message and was the widely disputed king of sandcastles until his voluntary exile from the music industry.

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